


(what it means?) a fortunate accident

by thereigning_lorelai



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, First Meetings, Jealousy, Missed Opportunities, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, but probably didn't realise i would go so overboard with, the serendipity AU one person actually asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-05-31 07:03:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15114260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thereigning_lorelai/pseuds/thereigning_lorelai
Summary: When Jyn Erso meets Cassian Andor she wouldn’t consider their meeting fortunate. They're fighting over the last pair of black cashmere gloves and Jyn doesn't want to back down. But then they find themselves unexpectedly drawn to each other. They decide to give fate a chance, spend the evening together and see what happens.(Serendipity AU)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For @ssa-alexandria over at Tumblr who requested a Rebelcaptain!Serendipity AU. The original post for this (including a gifset) is [here](http://thereigning-lorelai.tumblr.com/post/175411243715/thereigning-lorelai-for-ssa-alexandria-who).

When Jyn Erso meets Cassian Andor she wouldn’t consider their meeting fortunate. It’s the last pair of black cashmere gloves they have and she wants them. It’s too cold outside to leave the mall without them and she definitely has not suffered this chaos two days before Christmas for nothing. Too many people in a too tiny place, grabbing everywhere, pushing and shoving ahead relentlessly. It takes every ounce of willpower to not throttle anyone.

Especially not the guy tugging at _her_ pair of gloves.

“I saw them first,” she cries out and her eyes pierce threateningly into his. He has the audacity to smile at her. “I’m sorry,” he says. “You take them. It’s the last pair.”

Taken by surprise she just stares at him for a moment longer than strictly necessary.

“Excuse me,” he directs at the shop assistant next to them. “Do you have another pair of these?” She lays the gloves on the counter so the young man on the other side has a better look at them.

“Whatever’s out is what we have, sir,” the boy responds. “No stockroom?” the man next to her asks. “No. No attic or basement either.” And with this, the boy’s already gone - it’s probably not the first time today he had to answer a similar question.

“Well then, these are yours, I think.” His eyes are on her as he says it and she suddenly feels fuzzy and warm. They are warm and look like chocolate and she catches herself melting beneath their gaze. She reminds herself to breathe and tears her eyes away from his face. Before she can take the gloves again, someone pushes past her from behind and snatches them from the counter.

“Hey,” Jyn and the man with the nice brown eyes yell at the same time. His response is as quick as hers as they grab the gloves and make the other man stop in his tracks. “These are mine,” Jyn bursts out.

“Well, not when I buy them before you do,” that other guy has the guts to argue. Now she’s ready to throttle someone. She stares him down with a death glare and at least he’s smart enough to falter slightly.

“You see,” brown-eyed guy next to her starts, “these are meant as a special gift for someone and we’ve discussed this for a long time and they are quite perfect.” The other guy looks sceptical. “Who are they for?”

Her… well, he’s her partner now, isn’t he? He’s looking to her, waiting for a cue, “For my boyfriend,” she says at the same time as he says, “For my girlfriend.” And they could have done this better but now they’re running with it.

“You see, he’s my boyfriend right now but…” she begins but doesn’t have much else. He looks at her comically, “… but, in a few months, he, well she, will be my girlfriend after… after the transition.” The other guy looks at them like they’ve each grown a second head but he finally lets go of the gloves. He backs away slowly, shaking his head. “You know, whatever. Merry Christmas.” And with that he’s gone and Jyn smiles triumphantly. Her partner-in-crime also lets go of the gloves and meets her gaze with a smile as bright as hers.

“Thanks for helping me there, I… think I owe you one?” It’s more a question than anything else. She’s not quite sure why she says it - she definitely could have handled this on her own. Maybe with more violence but she could have done it.

 

* * *

 

They end up having a coffee anyway although Jyn’s still not sure what it is about him that makes her want to spend one of her last evenings before going back home with him. But then he smiles again and there is that weird and fluttery feeling in her stomach again.

“This is a nice place,” she says over the rim of her cup. “How’d you find it?”

“The name,” he says matter-of-factly, swirling the milk in his coffee. “Serendipity?” It comes as a surprise to him, she sees it, that she’s noticed and remembered it. But he recovers quickly and nods. “It’s one of my favourite words. It means ‘a fortunate accident’.”

She looks at him curiously. She didn’t take him for the guy being interested in linguistics. Not that she knows him. Not that she knows anything about him, really. They haven’t even exchanged names yet.

“Not that I really believe in accidents… it’s more like… fate.” And with this he looks directly into her eyes and she knows that he feels it, too. This strange connection. He doesn’t feel like a stranger, more like a kindred soul. (If Jyn ever really believed in such a thing.)

“It’s like having faith,” he continues softly. “Faith?” She didn’t take him for a religious person either. “Faith in what?” His answer comes fast and without a doubt in his voice. “Destiny.” And she realises it probably has nothing to do with religion.

 

* * *

 

They want to go their separate ways, afterwards. He pays the bill, they say their goodbyes - she goes left, he goes right, intending to never see each other again. At the next traffic light she notices she’s left the gloves behind - and he left his shawl, she realises when she’s back to grab her shopping bag. They look at each other again, and this time she smiles, too. (She has a boyfriend, she knows he has a girlfriend… whom he wanted to buy gloves for. It isn’t meant to be, it’s not the right time, but still…)

“Let’s do something.”

 

* * *

 

When the ice skating rink is almost empty, the two of them are still on it drawing circles around each other.

“Do you miss England,” he asks her and he’s doing a pirouette around her that actually looks quite professional if she’s being honest.

“Sometimes. It comes in waves.” She picks up speed to skate effortlessly to the other end of the rink. He follows her a few steps behind but with similar speed. “I know that feeling,” he tells her emphatically. It’s a moment of silent acknowledgement between the two of them. She doesn’t get a chance to ask him anything herself because he’s already by her side, steadying himself on the handrail next to her. Their hands do not touch but she can feel the warmth of his hand, of his whole body really, radiating off of him.

“What do you miss most about it?”

She doesn’t have to think about it for long. Not only does she have barely anything left to miss on the other side of the Atlantic but there’s also one person she’d always miss regardless of how far away from home she is and for how long she’s away.

“My brother. I miss him terribly.” Being without Bodhi makes everything worse and she can’t wait until he’s finished with university to finally follow her across the pond. She feels at home most times but there are moments where she just wants to sit next to her brother, curled up in blankets on her couch, watching a weird show on Netflix, listening to him talk about his day or this cute boy he has a crush on. Like they used to years ago before she decided to go to the States and start a new life here. “You?”

She circles away from him for a moment, only to come back into his orbit effortlessly. It’s almost as if she’s being pulled back simply by his presence.

“My mother and sister,” he answers shortly and without hesitation. There’s a strange flicker – his eyes getting darker just for a second – that is gone as fast as it came but Jyn‘s sure she’s seen it. She stops for a moment, caught up in his eyes and his expression, trying to figure him out the same way she knows he’s trying to figure her out with each word passed between them.

It’s a quick rapport of less insightful questions afterwards – favourite movies, favourite books, favourite food. Nothing too deep, nothing of importance or too heavy. Just two people getting to know each other.

“Favourite moment away from home”, she asks and looks back over her shoulder as she prepares herself for a small jump. “This one’s climbing the ladder pretty fast,” he admits with a smirk and watches her feet as she skillfully glides over the ice. He’s getting closer to her again as she’s landing. But then one of her skates is catching an edge on the ice and she feels herself falling backward. As she’s tumbling to the ground she gets a hold of his arm and he’s going down with her, his body hitting the ice next to her in his attempt to not fall on top of her. He manages just barely but shifts his weight just in time to not crush her.

“Did you hurt yourself?” He looks down at her worriedly, his dark eyes looking her up and down and she feels herself heating up underneath his gaze. His arms on each side of her body, she tries to sit up but it brings her so close to his face — too close — that she can feel his breath on her cheek.  It distracts her for a couple of seconds, rendering her unable to collect her thoughts or even examining any possible injuries.

“No, just my pride,” she admits, her tone a bit sour but not really bitter, and he laughs at that. Jyn can’t remember when she last fell while skating. This will probably nag at her for quite some time. He helps her up then and she comes close to him again.

“Seems not just your pride that got hurt after all,” he tells her. At her questioning look he points to her right arm — or her elbow, more specifically — and the gaping hole in her sweater. _That was a favourite_ , she thinks remorsefully, but only manages to get out a quiet “Oh” as a response.

Before she can tell him that it doesn’t even hurt that much he guides her off the ice and she would complain about being an adult and able to do that on her own, but his hand on her arm is so warm and good and it’s been such a long time since she felt this way. It’s a connection she’s not felt with any of the men she had been with these last years — not even Trey. That fact should disturb her more than it actually does. Nevertheless, it’s scary — the thought of someone being able to ignite her with a single, small touch.

She looks at the back of his head, wondering if he feels the same — this connection that flared up in the mall and just keeps blazing since then. Wonders if he’s as scared of it as she is.

They end on a bank near the rink, her sleeve rolled up over her elbow and him examining the damage. It’s not even bleeding, there’s barely a scratch and she _definitely_ had worse. “I think I’ll survive,” she states and he huffs a laugh. “I think so, too.” But he doesn’t let go of her arm.

His fingers absentmindedly trace the freckles on her arm, following the pattern that’s been there her whole life. “It looks like Cassiopeia,” he tells her quietly and she almost doesn’t hear him.

“Sorry?”

“Cassiopeia,” he says louder and looks up into her eyes. She really hopes he doesn’t feel the goose bumps spreading on her arm. “She was the queen of Ethiopia. The myth says that she thought that her daughter, Andromeda, was the most beautiful woman on earth. She gushed about it to everyone and one day she managed to enrage Poseidon, the god of the sea, by telling him that Andromeda was even more beautiful than the sea nymphs. As punishment she was placed in the sky, circling the northern celestial pole. Half of the time, she’s upside down, forced to cling to her thrown, constantly in danger of falling off.”

He fishes a pen out of his jacket pocket and pulls the cap off with his teeth. She eyes him curiously as he starts drawing on her arm, connecting the little dots on her forearm and the goose bumps are forming on her skin again as she notices his tongue darting out of his mouth in concentration.

“And now, all that’s left of her is a constellation in the night sky, a few freckles looking like a thrown.” He finishes his drawing and lets go of her arm but he’s still leaning into her, looking at the lines on her skin.

“That’s – that’s kind of sad. She didn’t do anything to deserve that kind of punishment,” she mutters. His answering smile shows her that he understands. “Yeah, she didn’t. But at least she’ll always be there when people here look up into the sky. That’s quite a legacy, if you think about it.”

She casts a glance at her arm, the black line forming a “W” still prominent on her pale skin, and her heart beats faster thinking about how his skin felt when he had touched her. Then there’s the thought of his brows furrowing in concentration, his tongue wetting his lips, the way his voice – so low while distractedly telling her the story of the old Ethiopian queen – washes over her so soothingly. She knows that this will be something that stays with her, too. Something she will think of when she looks at the freckles on her arm from now on.

It should really scare her. She doesn’t know this man – barely knows his name – and she’s almost certain they won’t see each other again after this evening. They probably shouldn’t. She has a life, a boyfriend, waiting for her. She’s pretty sure he does as well. A girlfriend, that is. This isn’t going to work. This isn’t something she’s _doing_ – going for a coffee with a man she barely knows, spending an evening with a stranger, letting him touch her and look at her like _this_.

As if on cue he looks up at her through his eyelashes and she swears her heart just _stops_ for a whole moment. Her eyes dart to his lips and there’s this pull again. She can feel it so strongly now. A desire to be near him, to feel what his lips might feel against hers. He leans in closer. _That’s it_ , she thinks and instinctively closes her eyes. The moment where everything’s coming together and where she has to decide to either run or let herself get carried away with him. A part of her wants to be carried away. The part that is not scared.

Something wet lands on her nose and then her arm. When she opens her eyes, she sees snowflakes in his hair and on his shoulders. He looks up, mild annoyance in his gaze when he looks towards the sky, and then back to her. “Guess we should get going before we’re snowed in.” His voice is still low, barely above a whisper. He tears his eyes away from her face and finally leans back.

She feels the air leaving her lungs and catches herself nodding. He reaches his hand out to help her up and she takes it without second thought. The snowfall is getting heavier when they leave the rink, casting everything in a hazy yellow glow. She rolls down her sleeve and falls into step next to him.

 

* * *

 

At the end of the evening, she at least knows his name - Cassian - and she knows the feeling of his hands tracing the freckles on her arms when he connects them with a pen and tells her it looks like Cassiopeia. She knows his laugh and his smile and his favourite movie. She also knows that the both of them have the worst timing ever.

“So,” she starts when they’re standing on the pavement waiting for a cab. She hands him the pen and watches as he writes down his number on the five dollar note before grabbing it and throwing it into the hands of the next person walking past them.

He raises his eyebrow but says nothing. She smirks at him. “If it was fate that we met tonight, then this will find its way to me and I’ll be able to call you.”

“What about you?” Now it’s her turn to look at him surprised. “Shouldn’t there be something with your name and number out in the universe for me to find?” he challenges her.

She looks around and finds the small bookshop at the corner. He stays behind, waiting patiently while she grabs a first edition of “Love in the Time of Cholera” and scribbles her name and her number on the first page right beneath the title.

“Okay, see this?” She shows him the cover. “I’ll sell this to another bookshop first thing tomorrow. And from now on, whenever you’ll walk past a copy of this book, you’ll have to look inside and see if it’s the right one.”

She can’t believe she’s doing this. It’s insane, absolutely ridiculous. She doesn’t know this man.

“My name’s Jyn, by the way.” And with that she hails a cab and says her goodbye. A real one, this time around.

They won’t see each other again for two years. They won’t stop thinking about each other until they find each other again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on [Tumblr](https://thereigning-lorelai.tumblr.com). ♥


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She managed to stumble upon him there once, so what’s speaking against her being able to do it again? Isn’t this how fate works?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there's a second chapter. Thanks for all the lovely feedback, guys! ♥
> 
> I needed to change some things because they didn't really fit with the way the story was going. First of all, that's Jyn's boyfriend's name because I figured that a) I already used that one in another story and b) it seems to be a very popular name for Jyn's boyfriend. Second of all I changed the timeline a bit. I couldn't possibly keep them apart for _five_ years! It's two now.

“Here’s your change, miss.” The cashier pushes the money into her hand without even looking up to her. Jyn mutters a quiet “Thanks” and steps out of the queue, money still in hand. She eyes the five dollar note curiously and turns it in her hand. Nothing. _Again_.

 _Well, of course not,_ she thinks. There never is anything on it. And it’s been almost two years now. (Not that she’s counting.)

How high are the chances to get a hold of that one five dollar note she so eagerly is looking for? She would consider them pretty low and yet… Although she would never admit to looking eagerly. Ot at all. She’s just not taking any chances, even if she’s starting to look weird to anyone around her.

Any of her friends noticing her strange habit file it away as exactly that — a weird habit. Some strange superstition she picked up somewhere. Only Bodhi knows the reason behind it and ever since she’s told him she won’t hear the end of it.

“If you really want to find him, why don’t you start looking for him for real, Jyn? _Searching_ , you know? Not this aimless hope you keep, of someday finding the right dollar note,” he tries to reason with her not long after she tells him the whole story. “Aren’t all the good relationships built on hope,” she shrugs although she doesn’t believe her own words. Not really. She knows exactly why she’s not _really_ looking, why she’s falling back on a weak sense of hope or fate or serendipity. Whatever she wants to call it these days. If it’s truly meant to be, something in the universe surely will tell her. (She won’t admit she’s terribly frightened by just thinking of that evening, the feelings he evoked in her, the cracks he managed to cause in her shell.)

She can’t help herself still looking from time to time. And sometimes it annoys her to think about the pull she’s still feeling when she thinks back to that last fateful evening in New York. Every time she looks at the freckles on her arm, the feeling of his hands on her skin returns. It’s something she can’t shake, regardless of how much she tries to.

She wonders if he’s looking for her from time to time, too. For the book she left him. If he even still thinks of her two years later.

 

* * *

 

Trey’s proposal comes fully unexpected and yet not at all surprising. They’ve been together for what now? More than four years? Which – it’s good. Because he feels safe; they _are_ safe. It’s not the passionate, all-consuming love her father always told her about in his bedtime stories, nor the deep-rooted sense of feeling completely at home with someone like her mother always dreamed of for her. Nevertheless, she feels safe with him; even with having carved out a small part of her heart for him. At least it’s a part she can live without, when push comes to shove.

The proposal is the logical next step and although they’ve never talked about it, they came to a silent understanding that it would be okay for the both of them.

That’s why she’s probably not really surprised when she comes home to a huge box standing in the middle of the living room one evening. It’s almost bigger than herself, wrapped up in golden paper and with a huge red ribbon neatly wrapped around it. Before she can inspect it further, her phone rings. She fishes it out of her coat and answers it, ignoring the almost unnoticeable shaking of her hands.

“Hello?”

“Are you already home,” the voice on the other end asks. Trey. “Yeah, just came in.” She puts her keys on the dining table and puts her handbag next to it – stubbornly ignoring the big box behind her for a moment.

The air suddenly feels heavy around her and in an attempt to lighten her own mood she asks jokingly, “Did I miss a birthday?”

“You should probably open it to find out,” Trey tells her instead of answering the question. She nods and then remembers that he can’t see the motion, so instead murmurs a soft “Okay” into his ear. She gets out the small pocket knife she always carries with her and puts the blade against the ribbon. The red fabric tears easily and with it the wrapping paper comes undone as well.

Jyn almost has to get on her tiptoes to lift the lid of the box and she groans quietly as she notices that there’s another box in it. She wades through the wrapping tissue and fishes out the smaller box. It’s still so big that she has to place her phone on the table next to her to fully grab it. She opens that one as well and produces yet another, smaller box from it. This one’s at least small enough to be held in one hand. She picks up her phone again now that one hand is free and while she opens what she assumes is the last box asks, “So, am I to move out or why are you giving me so many boxes?”

He doesn’t answer. Or she doesn’t hear his answer because she has the last box open and her ears start to ring while she just keeps looking at the small jewel case in her hand. She stares at it, unable to think or say anything. Somehow, she always imagined this moment to be different. She’s not sure how exactly she imagined it – she didn’t even know she thought of this moment _at all_ –, just _different_.

She’s so engrossed by this little box, she doesn’t notice the door to the bedroom opening and Trey joining her in the living room – where she’s currently standing absolutely motionless.

“I see you’ve found the last box.” Without another word he’s getting on his knee in front of her, taking the jewel case out of her hand and opening it carefully. The ring is beautiful, Jyn must admit that. A rose golden band with a small diamond in the middle. It’s understated, probably fitting her and her style perfectly.

“Jyn Erso, will you do me the honour of marrying me?”

She swallows the lump in her throat. A million different thoughts are going through her head but there’s one that’s most prominent — her parents sitting on the couch, arms around each other, a smile on each of their faces. When she thinks of love, that’s what she sees. It’s not exactly what she imagines for herself and Trey, it’s not where she sees them. But she thinks she can get there, eventually.

So, why not marrying him? There is no proper counter argument forming in her head, no downside she can think of. So, why not?

 

* * *

 

“He’s popping the question and the first thing you think of is ‘why not’? Seriously, Jyn?” Bodhi is looking at her incredulously, shaking his head. “Did you at least say ‘yes’?” She plops down on the couch next to him and takes the beer out of his hand to sip at it.

“It was more of an ‘okay’, but yeah, basically,” she admits and takes a deep breath. “Look, Bodhi. I love Trey. He cares for me, he’s never disappointed me and I think that’s good enough for me.” The look Bodhi’s giving her is a mixture of understanding, love and pity and Jyn hates it. “Don’t look at me like that, Bodhi!”

His features soften and fall back into his usual friendly expression.

“I’m 32, Bodhi,” she starts, unsure where she wants to go with this as soon as the words leave her mouth. Bodhi’s eyes soften even more and he stretches his arm out and draws her close, planting a kiss on her cheek.

“I didn’t take you for the kind of gal to marry someone just because,” he jokes but still with a sense of sincerity. It’s a good point, really. Is Trey just the safe option for her? Is she settling out of fear? Fear of what? What exactly _is_ she afraid of?

Jyn just stares at the tv screen in front of her. Bodhi was watching some mediocre horror movie when she’d come over. He hadn’t even paused it when she had stalked into his living room, so now the movie’s almost over. The killer is on the loose but neither of them really knows who’s already dead and neither of them cares. Bodhi’s right and she knows it.

 

* * *

 

Going to New York City right after getting engaged might not be the smartest idea and Jyn knows Bodhi’s going to be at least highly suspicious of her reasoning. But right now she doesn’t care. The plan forms in her head the night she gets home from Bodhi’s, his words still clear in her head, haunting her.

So, flying off to New York might be a bit rash but she has to know. She has to be sure. She doesn’t want to call it superstition but there’s something still nagging at her heart. A faint memory of an ice skating rink and a warm hand on her arm and a soft voice explaining Cassiopeia to her.

“You want to do what now?” It’s not like she didn’t expect the question. “I want to go to New York with you for your birthday,” and it’s only half a lie. It’s like getting two for the price of one — giving Bodhi something for his birthday and giving herself some clarity. That’s what she’s hoping for.

It’s a huge chance even thinking about finding him, with just his first name and barely anything else to go by. But somehow she thinks she’ll be closer to finding him there then in her small town in Connecticut. She managed to stumble upon him there once, so what’s speaking against her being able to do it again? Isn’t this how fate works?

Bodhi keeps eyeing her suspiciously. But he tugs her into a hug anyway, draws her close and places a soft kiss on the top of her head. She knows that he knows — and that he’s still supporting her in this foolish and absolutely ridiculous idea. That’s all that matters to her.

 

* * *

 

It’s actually harder to find people than he’s initially thought, Cassian realises. Especially when one’s going by only a first name and nothing else. Six months after having met her, Cassian is starting to think she really doesn’t want to be found. “Jyn isn’t that common of a name, is it,” he asks his best friend Kay one night when they’re sitting at the bar around their office building with beers in hands.

He has always thought he’s quite good at finding people, places, things. His job as a photographer for one of the most renowned newspapers in New York requires a special set of skills for that. He knows people, he knows where to start looking and when to turn in the other direction for more information. Wherever he goes, he picks up information – names, dates, locations.

But a year later, with still nothing on this mysterious woman calling herself “Jyn”, he’s starting to doubt his skills and catches himself sitting in quiet wonder and with the feeling of having been fooled quite skilfully. Maybe “Jyn” isn’t her name after all. Maybe she wasn’t feeling the same way he does after all. (The feelings he won’t give a name to, not even a year later.) But he has nothing else to go by — nothing but a face and the fact that her freckles look like Cassiopeia. In no way will _that_ be helpful.

“Never heard of it before you wouldn’t stop mentioning it every time we’re not talking about work,” Kay throws back with his slightly annoyed tone he always gets these days when they hit this certain topic. Cassian can’t blame him. “Would you like to know the probability of her giving you wrong information on herself?” He really, _really_ doesn’t but Kay keeps talking anyway, “It’s high. Very high.”

Cassian takes a sip from his beer. It should probably be something stronger considering how awful he’s feeling right now. It’s one thing to keep wondering for himself and something else entirely to hear it from Kay. Kay is the more rational one of them, the one speaking the truth even when no one wants to hear it.

This night Cassian decides to stop his futile search for the woman calling herself Jyn. He figures it might be for the best to keep her as a memory. A pleasant one – no doubt in that – but a memory that will fade with time.

This night Cassian decides to concentrate on the here and now — something he hasn’t done for quite a while and he’s ashamed of himself. Ashamed of himself for chasing a fantasy; a fantasy of a woman that most likely doesn’t even exist while he’s got a real woman waiting for him all this time. He knows he’s been unfair to her for stringing her along while his heart was somewhere else the whole time. No more, he tells himself.

He and Sophia are back together by the end of the week and he’s trying desperately to make up for lost time. They’re moving in together three months later. Cassian asks her to be his wife four months after that. She says yes.

He can’t stop picking up a copy of “Love in the Time of Cholera” every time he walks past one though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moodboard for this is [here](http://thereigning-lorelai.tumblr.com/post/175411243715/thereigning-lorelai-for-ssa-alexandria-who%22). For more stuff like this, chatting me up and anything else, you can find me on [Tumblr](https://thereigning-lorelai.tumblr.com).


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone bumps into her shoulder, yanking her away from him and back into reality. The traffic lights turn to green and crowds of people brusquely storm past them. Cassian startles as well, his eyes going from her lips to their surroundings, then back to her face.
> 
> She sees it in his eyes. The moment is over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for all the lovely feedback. ♥ I promise they'll see each other again, we'll (slowly) get there! It might take one or two more chapters, but it _will_ happen.

Getting to New York and managing to bring Bodhi with her (with him just suspiciously eyeing her the entire flight but not actually  _ saying _ something about it) is actually the easiest part of her plan. Jyn has no idea how to go about this “finding a stranger in a metropolis” thing she decided to do at two in the morning three days ago.

That’s probably why the cab driver looks at her like she’s grown a second head when she tells him to “just get us into the city and then I’ll tell you where to stop”. As if he didn’t hear stranger things all the time.

She decides to start with the mall where everything sort of started but she doesn’t really have anything to go by. And it probably won’t help to just stand next to the gloves and wait for her mysterious man to show up. That wouldn’t be fate, it would be a miracle.

So of course, there’s nothing there except a history lesson for Bodhi and the realisation that, even two years later, they still haven’t stocked up on the black cashmere gloves.

There’s also nothing at the ice skating rink. Not even ice because the season hasn’t started yet. It’s just a big area of grey concrete this time of the year. Her eyes wander to one of the park benches next to it and she can feel her skin heating up. This isn’t normal, this shouldn’t be normal, to remember another person’s touch so vividly.

The sun has already set but looking up into the sky she can’t make out any stars resembling the freckles on her arm. It’s almost impossible to see any stars in the faint glow of the streetlights around them.

She knows it’s there, though. Even if she can’t see it, it’s there to guide her somehow. And it gives her some hope to actually succeed on this weird crusade to find a man she didn’t really know even two years ago.

 

* * *

 

They are ticking off the few spots left on her tour the next day without any success. Jyn’s not sure what she’s hoped for, exactly. Maybe a bit more than  _ nothing _ . Maybe fate. Maybe just some fortunate accident to guide her in the right direction.

The stop at the book shop actually isn’t on her schedule but Bodhi drags her into it when he notices her staring into the shop window for a moment longer than strictly necessary. A copy of “Love in the Time of Cholera” is there on a stack of other books and she really hopes it’s not the copy she put there two years ago. People still buy books, don’t they? She should have thought about the economical development of the book market before buying a hard copy.

The thought still lingers when Bodhi grabs her arm and pulls her into the tiny shop. The smell of old books hits her as soon as they cross the threshold. It reminds her of why she’s chosen this way to tempt fate. It reminds her of her love for books — how it’ll always remind her of her papa and the nights she fought so hard to not fall asleep so they could finish the chapter and maybe the one after that. She loved the stories they read —little witches, speaking animals, detective stories. Her father loved to read stuff that was not necessarily age-appropriate but that way she got to solve murder cases alongside Sherlock Holmes when she was six. And she loved his voice — deep and calm in the narrative passages, alarmed and higher-pitched when needed, speaking the dialogue with differing voices so she could follow easily.

The love for books never left her. It felt appropriate to chose a book as her call for destiny.

“I promised Luke to bring him a copy of that Sci-Fi story he’s so in love with. The one they made so many movies of.” She only half-listens to him, being drawn to the book in the display. Bodhi’s already off to the section with the colourful covers — guys with lightsabers, fantastic planets, weird alien creatures — when her hand wanders to the much less attention-seeking cover in front of her. There’s a moment of silent dread when she opens it and sees the handwriting on the binding of the cover —

_ To the love of my life. Happy anniversary, Cecilia. _

_ In love, Robert _

She sighs. What an exceptionally depressing gift for an anniversary. But that’s none of her business. Relief floods her when she identifies the unfamiliar handwriting and text.

“Hey Jyn,” Bodhi crops up next to her, stowing away the change in his jacket — the black leather jacket she  _ actually _ got him for his birthday (because she wasn’t  _ that _ bad of a sister); a similar one to the one she was wearing and that Bodhi kept “burrowing” from her, always complaining about it being a bit too tight for him — and tucking the purchased book under his arm. “You want something or are we ready to go?”

With one last glance to the yellow book cover she inspected minutes ago, she shakes her head and follows him out the door.

 

* * *

 

“So, how come you know so much about astronomy, living in a city where you can literally see no stars?” The lines around his eyes crinkle in a way she’s grown accustomed to too fast for her liking. “I haven’t lived here all my life, though.” And she knows that, of course. They’ve already brushed that topic but gracefully skated around it a few times. She still wants to know more about it.

“The skies were clearer in Mexico. The part I grew up in, at least.” His gaze wanders from her to the sky that’s too illuminated by street and traffic lights and the skyscrapers around them. They’re on their way to — she’s not sure where they’re heading to honestly. They’ve left the rink some 30 minutes ago and Jyn‘s been sure that their paths would separate soon — both heading for their respective hotels. But somehow they keep walking and talking and wandering through the streets, still asking questions — and why is she so comfortable with asking so many questions and even more with answering them to a man she hasn’t seen before today and probably won’t see again after tonight?

“You could see the Milky Way from there. Something I haven’t seen ever since I left Mexico,” he sounds rueful at that. Jyn’s never paid much attention to the night sky. She can’t really understand what he’s missing. (She’s also pretty sure that the Milky Way isn’t visible from any place in London either.)

“My father used to tell me the stories about constellations, the myths behind them, all that stuff. Sometimes, we would sneak out at night into our garden and we would lie on a blanket and watch the sky for hours until my mother caught us and brought me back to bed.” He pauses for a moment, eyes still fixed on the sky above them, not seeing anything except a few snowflakes and the light reflecting in an orange haze from the foggy air around them. She sees him swallow, wants to ask what’s bothering him but he continues before she can open her mouth. “I… sneaked out even years after he died. When I was out there, lying on the grass and watching the stars, I always felt like he was next to me, telling me all the stories I didn’t know yet.”

The smile on his face is sad and yet beautiful. She can’t tear her eyes from him and her neck starts to hurt from stretching it so long to look at him.

“I used to do the same,” she confesses, voice quiet. “Not the stargazing, obviously. But my papa used to read to me. I couldn’t fall asleep for months after he died, not without his voice tucking me in.” That’s why she has a strange fondness of audiobooks, she assumes. She still misses his voice, whispering, “Goodnight, Stardust,” before pulling her blanket up to her face, giving her a kiss on the forehead and turning off the light.

They stare at each other for a long time after that, standing at a crossroad and waiting for the traffic lights to switch to green. (It probably already did a couple of times. Neither of them notices.) Something shifts, then. There’s an understanding that’s even deeper than anything they’ve felt earlier this evening. The pull is almost unbearable now, his dark brown eyes dragging her in, closer.

She feels herself shifting closer, stretching her neck again, and she sees him leaning down slowly. His face is getting nearer and her eyes fall to his lips, remembering the way his tongue darted out to wet them earlier.

She feels his breath on her cheek, his lips coming closer, closer still, only a moment away now.

Someone bumps into her shoulder, yanking her away from him and back into reality. The traffic lights turn to green and crowds of people brusquely storm past them. Cassian startles as well, his eyes going from her lips to their surroundings, then back to her face.

She sees it in his eyes. The moment is over.

 

* * *

 

It’s an exceptionally warm day for the beginning of November. Part of it could be him being squeezed in between all the protesters in front of the court house though. His boss sent him to cover the demonstration and Cassian always finds that the best pictures are taken right in the middle of events. It’s a heated atmosphere but he knows that it will show in the pictures he’s taken so far. It’s what he does best – capturing atmospheres, emotions.

It’s something people are still confused about – people he’s working with. When they’re looking at him, he’s not exactly screaming ‘emotive’ or ‘empathetic’ and he knows it. He likes to be detached. That’s why he became a photojournalist – seeing and showing moments and feelings without having to be part of them; telling stories through the lens of his camera, always with the needed distance.

He’s watching from afar, even when he’s right in the middle, he rarely gets involved in it. He’s watching people through the finder of his camera.

He’s almost finished now and wades through the crowd until he’s reached the edge of the demonstration. He sees Kay waiting for him on one of the park benches across the street, a sandwich in his hands. It’s always a strange thing to see Kay eat – although he’s known him for so long now, Cassian can never get used to this tall, stiff person actually being human and having to do human things like eating.

“I see you’ve started without me,” he lets himself fall on the bench next to his friend and puts the camera down. “You usually don’t have lunch, Cassian. Even if it’s a late one. Which is – as I’ve told you before – not the healthiest lifestyle.”

Cassian just groans in response.

“Tell me again why you’re accompanying me, Kay. You’re writing obituaries. No one’s died – as far as I know.” He doesn’t really want an answer to that. It’s probably to have an eye on him. There are only a couple of days left until the wedding, Cassian’s to-do-list is still long, he tries to stay as organised as possible but some things just get lost or forgotten along the way – things like eating regular meals, breaks, anything that’s not related to his work or the wedding.

Kay just keeps eating. Which is probably for the best. Cassian really doesn’t want to know whether he’s here as his friend, colleague or chaperon.

The sun’s beginning to set behind them, casting their surroundings in an orange glint. He hasn’t realised it’s already so late. The masses are slowly disintegrating around them and Cassian takes the chance to get up as well, feeling restless all of a sudden.

“Where are you going,” Kay calls after him. “Just taking a few more pictures,” Cassian’s throwing a response over his shoulder, already crossing the street again. The light is fascinating – little dust particles reflecting it, long streaks following the path of the road and leaving everything else in shadow. The shimmer around him reminds him of snow and something else. A memory that’s still too fresh, even two years later.

He gets his camera ready and points it towards the sun setting between two buildings in front of him, the shadows of the crowd passing in front of him. He zooms in,  _ one last shot _ , he thinks, then he can pack his things and get the flowers for the wedding paid for.

That’s when he sees it – a shock of brunette hair, pulled together in a small bun at the neck. The woman is turning towards him, revealing the side of a face he recognises in an instant. He lets the camera sink but remembers that she’s too far away, too far to be sure. So he gets his camera up again, zooms in even closer and he stops breathing for a moment when he realises it  _ is _ her.

She’s standing at an intersection, waiting for the protesters to walk past her –  _ them _ , he thinks when he notices the man standing next to her, shoulders brushing against each other’s. She looks up to the man, a smile on her face, and a strand of her hair falls in her face with the motion. Her hand goes up to brush it back behind her ear and that’s when he spots the ring on her finger, catching and releasing the light from the afternoon sun.

Cassian can feel his heartbeat picking up and slowing down in rapid succession. The joy of  _ seeing _ her, the sheer luck of finding her  _ here,  _ alternating with an overwhelming feeling of regret and disappointment. For a long moment, he’s completely frozen in place, hesitating in the uncertainty of what to do now.

The camera in his hand is heavy but he can’t let go, his eyes simply closing behind the viewfinder. He remembers to take slow, deliberate breaths, filling his stomach with fresh air, then releasing it again. He makes a decision when he opens his eyes again — he still wants to talk to her, still wants to see her up close again. Even if she’s — even if they  _ both _ have taken different paths in their lives now. Even if it will never  _ be,  _ whatever it was between them.

He has to speak to her. He’s searched for her for too long to waste this chance now.

He looks up again, the crowd is moving and she seems to have moved as well as she’s not where she’s stood just a moment ago. Frantically he gets his camera back up and searches up and down the sidewalk. His feet start moving on their own accord, camera still in his face and in front of his eyes to enhance his vision. He keeps looking but there are too many people, too many signs blocking his view, the light slowly withdrawing from the pavement.

He stops then, realising there’s no chance to find her in the bulk of strange faces. Fate has slipped through his fingers again.

She’s gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on [Tumblr](https://thereigning-lorelai.tumblr.com) and say hi. :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “At least try talking to him, no?” He rolls on his side to face her and the look on his face is so serious that Jyn holds her breath to hear what else he wants to tell her. “You know you couldn’t face yourself if you gave up now.”
> 
> “I couldn’t face myself if I ruined a wedding, Bodhi,” she gives back in a somber tone. It’s the thing she worries most about the longer she thinks about this whole mess.
> 
> “If you showing up or just making contact makes him not marry another woman, maybe he didn’t make the right decision to marry her in the first place?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _In which fate keeps hitting Jyn in the face over and over again and Bodhi is, once more, the voice of reason._
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for all your amazingly kind feedback! It's so appreciated and I can't thank you enough! ♥

Bodhi and Jyn get back to their hotel that evening with Jyn being completely exhausted and disillusioned. She just wants to get back to their room, fall back onto the bed and watch some weird show on TV — maybe people hunting ghosts, or houses, or gowns… no, that’s not such a good idea after all. Maybe she should… she can’t finish that thought because Bodhi stops in his tracks, yanking wildly at her sleeve.

“Bodhi, what is…” That’s when she sees him, standing at the reception, looking around and waiting for her.

 _Trey._ This isn’t good. Jyn realises this as soon as he looks up and finds her.

What is he doing here? Why did he come? (Had she called him these last days? Embarrassingly enough, she can’t remember.)

She looks over to Bodhi who seems to have a much better grip of the whole situation than she does. He just gives her a short nod and a mumbled “I’ll be in our room. Call me if you need me.” and disappears in one of the lifts.

That leaves her standing in the middle of the lobby, still staring at Trey and him staring back at her. With a slight shake of her head she pulls herself out of the trance and finally brings her feet to move. He starts to move as well and they meet in the middle, like always. “Should we grab a drink,” he asks her then and she nods in approval.

They end up at the hotel bar — her with a whiskey, him with a rum cola — staring at the selection of alcoholic beverages in front of them.

Jyn waits. Because she knows he has to say it, has to say what he came her for.

“This isn’t working, isn’t it?” Her heart is beating faster at that — with disappointment or relief, she’s not exactly sure. But she knows what it’s trying to tell her.

She’s been away for three days and not even once thought about calling him. She hasn’t missed him, hasn’t thought about what he was doing or how he was feeling, she hasn’t thought it necessary to let him know that she was fine. She knows that this shouldn’t be normal. That she shouldn’t be miles away and not once thinking about her fiancé at home — even worse, thinking about another man the whole time. A man that gets her heart racing even two years after she’s last seen him.

It’s not fair. Not to her and especially not to Trey. He’s a nice guy, lovely and caring and he deserves so much better.

“No, it’s not.” She doesn’t need to say more, both of them staring down their glasses, wishing it were different. The bar’s almost empty and the silence around them is creeping up on them, making them shift uncomfortably on their barstools.

“I’m sorry, Trey,” she says and they both know she really means it. With that, she pulls the ring from her finger and slides it over to him. Their fingers brush briefly when he takes it but he’s pulling away quickly, as if burned. By the way he can’t look her in the eyes, she knows it’s a close call.

He’s finishing his drink and excuses himself shortly after. He gives her a quick kiss on the cheek and it will be the last time they’ll be this close to each other. He’ll have his things packed and moved by the time she’s back from New York.

It could have gone worse, she thinks. Her heart knows it was the right thing. She knows she should have ended it sooner. Probably should have never accepted his proposal. She knows that now — and Bodhi probably knew it way sooner.

She sits at the bar for a while longer, sipping at her drink and watching the few people that are still there. The young man sitting across from her, nursing his beer and looking as heartbroken as she should feel; the older couple looking at travel guides, obviously planning their next day together; the man in the sharp suit on a business trip and unwilling to go to his room so early and alone.

She pays the drinks and goes up to their room where Bodhi’s already eagerly awaiting any news about what happened. He takes it pretty well, considering, but he’s most likely already seen it coming anyway. “Come here, sis,” he tugs her closer, pulling her into his arms and giving her a soft pad on the top of her head. It’s all she needs right now — someone who knows and understands her, comforting her without telling her that he’d told her so.

“So, because this trip just got 100 percent more depressing. How about tomorrow, we do something _you_ want to do for a change?” She looks at him with apologetic eyes and a little smile. It’s all she can offer at the moment and it’s everything she wants to do. Her search has been a dud from start to finish and she doesn’t want to wail in self-pity because of her drastically changed relationship status. She focuses on Bodhi because she knows that when he’s happy, she will be, too. Sooner or later.

 

* * *

 

It shouldn’t surprise her that Bodhi’s choosing an art gallery to spend his recreational time with his sister at. Not just an art gallery – but political photography, at that. No stiff portraits of boring politicians, no landscapes, no glossy photos of posing people – it’s gritty and moving and emotional looking at depictions of protesters and rallies. Bodhi’s always had his heart in the right place – morally and emotionally.

They are wandering through the halls, taking everything in and Jyn has to admit it’s the first time on this trip she feels herself disentangling her wound up nerves and enjoying herself.

Bodhi’s already leading the way into the next room when it catches her eye – a huge black and white photography at the end of the room, almost hidden in the corner but catching her attention nonetheless. It’s strikingly beautiful. She half sees Bodhi moving along out of the corner of her eyes, but she’s fully drawn in by the photography in front of her, moving closer.

It… looks like a monk, going by the robes he’s dressed in, but she’s never seen a monk like him. There are people fighting around him, dust whirling around him and obscuring most of the people in the background, and he’s just sitting there, a staff in his hand. She doesn’t know why but she’s sure it’s not to support his weight. He’s sitting in the center of the frame, the center of the events and fights going on around him – and she can see in his face that he’s absolutely calm, collecting his strength, waiting. It’s the moment before the fight, she knows that look all too well.

But what draws her even closer are his eyes. Milky and blind but not unseeing. He looks right at the camera, as if knowing that it’s there all along. He’s looking right into her soul.

Jyn moves closer until she’s standing right in front of the canvas, taking in every little detail of it, releasing a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding to begin with.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it,” a voice suddenly startles her out of her thoughts. There’s a woman next to her – she’s not sure since when she’s standing there and where she came from and it unsettles her. “I think it’s my favourite in this exhibition,” the redhead tells her. The woman is entirely dressed in white – maybe that’s why Jyn didn’t catch her walking up to her. She blends in nicely with the white walls of the gallery.

“It’s haunting,” Jyn admits, still mesmerised by the bright eyes of the monk holding her gaze even through a simple photography.

“Yes, the photographer has a tendency to capture moments like this.” At that, Jyn’s attention goes from the picture in front of her to the small name tag beneath it.

_Cassian Andor_

She does a double take, focusing in on the name… the first name. For a long moment, Jyn can’t think anything at all. She hears the blood rushing in her ear, drowning any other noise around her.

How likely? How high are the chances? How many people called Cassian are there in New York City?

She forces herself to breathe – in and out, long and deep breaths – before she turns to the woman still standing next to her.

“Do you know him?” It’s a long shot, she knows it. But it’s been a long shot to come here and look for him and now she finally thinks she’s getting answers and getting closer to knowing where to keep looking. “The photographer, I mean,” she adds hastily. “Or can you point me to the curator, so I can ask them?”

The woman looks at her calmly. “I am the curator, coincidentally. I’m Mon Mothma.” With that, she extends her hand and Jyn takes it. “Nice to meet you, Miss…”

“Erso,” Jyn answers a bit hesitantly. But something about this woman makes her trust her. It won’t be bad to exchange her name for more information. It’s better to start this conversation on the same page and from an equal understanding of trust. “Look, I know this may sound weird but I think I’ve been looking for this man for quite some time and I hoped you could give me his contact info – or some indication on how to reach him.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Erso, but I can’t just give away my artist’s contact. They have a right to privacy after all,” and the smile on her face is earnest, even as she blows all of Jyn’s hopes into dust.

But Jyn never backed down before and she’s not ready to give up so easily now. A little bit of herself for a little bit of information she needs. It’s a bargain she can live with.

So she tells Mothma about how she’s met Cassian, about that evening two years ago and even about how she can’t stop thinking about him even all those years later. It’s something Jyn would barely open up about to anyone, let alone some stranger she’s just met, but she’s so close now. She can feel how close she’s getting, the skin on her arms prickling from the sensation of just thinking about it. She _has_ to know.

Mothma listens to her story patiently and sympathetically, nodding from time to time, a smile still on her lips.

“I feel like I’ve heard this story before,” she tells her when Jyn’s finished and that makes Jyn stop in her tracks. How would she know that story? Is this some kind of joke she’s not getting? But a look into the other woman’s face tells her that she’s absolutely serious about it.

“I’ve seen a lot of this photographer’s works. He’s usually doing newspaper coverages but once in a while he lets me use his work for exhibitions like this.” Jyn’s not sure how exactly that will help her in getting Cassian’s number, or even figuring out whether he’s the right Cassian, or how this explains why Mon Mothma claimed to know the story of how they met and separated some two years ago. Still, she keeps listening.

“I tried to buy one of his more recent works but he refused, telling me it was very personal. It was a beautiful photography of a couple ice skating. I asked him whether I could show it here, at least, but to that he told me, again, that it was too personal. He told me it was like a memory to him – a memory of the day he met this incredible woman and had to watch her leave again.”

Jyn doesn’t say a word. Can’t say anything, really. She holds her breath and waits for the other woman to continue whatever else she has to say.

“He mentioned something about fate — something I didn’t quite understand until you showed up today and told me your version of this story.”

She gets a pen out of a hidden pocket in her jacket and grabs one of the business cards lying around everywhere. “Unfortunately, I can’t give you his private contact but I have his business number where you can probably reach him just as well,” Mothma tells her as she scribbles the digits on the plain back of the card in her neat handwriting.

Jyn can’t believe her luck. Private number or not, it doesn’t matter as long as she has some way to contact him. Finally.

As she hands her the card, Jyn feels Mothma‘s hand lingering on her own for a moment longer, squeezing it a bit. “Good luck.”

And the sincerity with which she says it takes Jyn completely by surprise.

 

* * *

 

It’s his business number and it’s already late when Bodhi and Jyn reach their hotel, so she doesn’t really expect him to pick up. She tries anyway.

Surprisingly, there’s a click on the other end of the line after the fourth ring. Jyn readies herself, her heart racing abnormally fast. But it’s not his voice that’s greeting her.

“Hi. How can I help you,” a female voice asks her.

“Hi, here’s Jyn. Erso. I’d like to talk to Cassian, please. Cassian Andor.” She’s so nervous all of a sudden — her initial nervousness about finding him coupling with her uneasiness of talking to people on the phone.

“Are you calling for the wedding? Mr. Andor and Ms. Miller have already left but I can take any messages.” The sheer politeness with which she delivers the blow renders Jyn unable to even be mad at her. Why would she even know or care that her words rip a hole through Jyn‘s chest?

“No,” she answers weakly, her voice sounding strange to her own ears. Swallowing, she tries to speak again but this time louder and clearer. “No, I’m not calling for the wedding. I tried to reach him for business reasons.”

“Well, he’ll be gone for the weekend and the week after but he’ll be back in the office on the 18th. Do you want to leave a message,” the girl asks again, nicely and so polite that Jyn can’t be angry with her.

“No, thank you,” she replies, feeling defeated. She should have expected something like this — it’s been two years after all. And she’d known that he was seeing someone when they’d met. And it’s not like she hadn’t been about to marry someone just days ago herself.

Maybe he’s never even started looking for her — maybe she’s just been a fool all along while he’s went on with his life like nothing happened.

But then again, what had Mothma told her just this day? That he had spoken about her — the incredible woman he’d met and lost on the same day. That he had a photograph that reminded him so much of her that he wouldn’t give it away — not even for a moment. That meant something, or at least it _should_ mean something.

Still, he’s going to get married this weekend. Whatever he might have felt when Mothma had talked to him might be long gone now. That conversation could have been years ago.

“I’m going for a walk, Bodhi.” Bodhi’s already half-asleep in front of the TV but he cracks an eye open when she grabs her jacket and throws it over her shoulder. “Do you want me to come with you?”

“I’ll be fine, Bodes. Keep watching… whatever you’re _watching_.” She ducks the pillow he’s throwing her way in response to her teasing. “Thanks,” she laughs softly and with that she’s out of the door.

She doesn’t know where she’s headed, she just needs the fresh air to clear her mind and some time to think about what to do next. She has his name, his phone number and she knows what he does for a living — she can actually go a long way with this information. She’s found people with a little less before (except with only a first name).

But what will it bring her when he’s going to get married this weekend — _which is in two days_ , she reminds herself. She can’t just crash a wedding. She can’t just show up and make a fool of herself. She can’t hope for anything to come out of it. She _shouldn’t_ hope for it.

At the next corner she gets herself a coffee —she knows it’s probably too late for coffee but she needs it to calm her mind and to get warmer because the night’s air is getting colder rapidly. As she’s fishing for her wallet, she notices she’s grabbed the wrong jacket when she left the hotel room in a hurry.

She curses quietly and prays to the gods that Bodhi has _some_ money in his pockets. She’s lucky and finds a crumpled note in one of the side pockets and hands it to the cashier. She has to remember to buy Bodhi a coffee in return.

The cashier turns over the five dollar note in his hand and already has put it halfway into the register when Jyn notices the faded lines of a pink marker on it.

“Sorry, but can I get this back for a moment?” She doesn’t even wait for him to comprehend what she just said, already reaching over the counter and taking the note back. The coffee, still standing on the counter next to her, is forgotten as she examines the green paper in her hand, turning it over and over. There it is.

His name and a phone number, neatly written on the back of it.

She can’t believe it. Two years. She’s spent two years looking for this, for _him_ — turning over every _stone_ , always hoping beyond hope. And now, as soon as she stops looking, ready to give up, he seems to be everywhere.

Everywhere, and still going to get married this weekend.

 

* * *

 

Nothing about this seems to be normal. Nothing about this seems like he’d imagine it would go — getting engaged, getting married. Cassian knows he’s the problem here, the one making it complicated and unfair to a lot of people right now.

He’s been so sure these last couple of months. So sure that what he’s doing is the right thing, the logical thing, the reasonable thing.

But as he’s sitting here, in the dark corners of his study, the present Sophia gave him today before their wedding lying in his lap —

_“I always see you looking for this whenever we walk past a bookstore, but never buying a copy,” she’s said, handing him a first copy of “Love in the Time of Cholera”._

— he’s not sure of anything anymore. Not himself, not his engagement, not his future.

He’s waited until she left the room to lift the lid, to look at the page where the dedication is written and there it is.

_Jyn Erso_

And next to the name, the thing he’s been seeking so long, a phone number.

The only thing he’s sure about in this very moment are the feelings he has, still, for this woman he’d met two years ago and had let go without ever really stopping regretting that decision.

 

* * *

 

Jyn decides that sleeping about this will be the most sensible thing right now. But not before she tells Bodhi about what happened at the gallery and the coffee shop.

“You should call again and see where the wedding is — just in case,” he shrugs. It’s practical. He’s not telling her what to do, nor what decision she should make; just to gather all information needed to make an informed decision.

“At least try talking to him, no?” He rolls on his side to face her and the look on his face is so serious that Jyn holds her breath to hear what else he wants to tell her. “You know you couldn’t face yourself if you gave up now.”

“I couldn’t face myself if I ruined a wedding, Bodhi,” she gives back in a somber tone. It’s the thing she worries most about the longer she thinks about this whole mess.

“If you showing up or just making contact makes him not marry another woman, maybe he didn’t make the right decision to marry her in the first place?”

Jyn can’t respond to that because Bodhi is right. If it were the other way around, she would know that it would be the right decision to call everything off. She already did it.

“Go to sleep, Jyn. We’ll decide what to do tomorrow.”

So she does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please always feel free to talk to me here or over at [Tumblr](https://thereigning-lorelai.tumblr.com). ♥


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Cassian Andor, acclaimed photojournalist, died on Friday from complications caused by losing his fiancée and his soulmate in the span of only a few days. He was never deemed to be a hopeless romantic but in his last days on this earth he surrendered himself to the quest of finding that one woman whom he considered his soulmate after spending a few fateful hours with her years ago._
> 
> _The search, unfortunately, ended last week in complete and utter failure. Yet, Cassian Andor never gave up hope in those last days._
> 
> _Asked about the passing of his friend and colleague, Kay Tuesso told the New York Times that Andor was a changed man in has last fleeting days. Where he was a pragmatic and stoic man before, he was feeling a rebellious streak inside himself before his passing._
> 
> _Ultimately, Cassian tried to believe in what he called “serendipity” or what the reader would refer to as “fate”. May he find what he was looking for in his next life._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap. I can't believe I actually finished this. Thanks _so, so much_ to everyone for commenting, giving kudos, reblogging and liking on Tumblr. This all means so much and I appreciate it very, very much! Thank you! ♥

The decision is kind of made  _ for _ her after that. When she calls Cassian’s office again — still holding back on contacting the other number she’s got — the nice girl from the day before informs her in an even nicer way that the wedding is cancelled but that she need not worry about any gifts she sent in. That they will be send back immediately.  _ That’s comforting _ , Jyn tells her although she couldn’t care less about it in this moment. (And because she, of course, didn’t send any gifts.)

She can’t hear anything else after that — for one because the blood is rushing through her veins so forcefully that she can only hear the sound of it in her head, on the other hand because she can’t concentrate on anything else the voice on the other end is saying to her.  _ If _ she’s actually saying more. Jyn can’t be sure because at some point the line is silent and she can’t remember  _ when exactly _ the other woman hung up.

It’s all a blur for several minutes. Jyn feels like she’s being paralysed and forced into action all at once. She  _ has _ to do something now. She’s just not sure what exactly.

 

* * *

 

Kay is not the biggest help to sort all these questions in his head and Cassian knows it’s nothing he should expect of him. He brought this mess upon himself and he already got extremely lucky that Sophia took away one of the calls he should have made a long time ago.

In the end it’s like ripping off a bandaid — a sharp and intense pain, but over too soon to really hurt. He knows he should have said something sooner, not have gotten engaged to begin with but his ability to even lie to himself so well is an impressive skill he’s not too fond of sometimes.

_ “I probably tried holding onto it as much as you did,” she tells him and her face is soft, “but I was as wrong about it as you were.” _

_ And that is it. _

“So, what now,” Kay wants to know after they’ve ordered coffee and sat down on a table outside the coffeeshop. Cassian shrugs, “She’s marrying someone else, so it’s not like I can just go and contact her and expect anything.”

“Why did you call off the wedding then, when you’re not trying to pursue that other woman?”

A bitter laugh escapes Cassian. Of course, to Kay it would have been the more logical thing to secure his own relationship, knowing that the woman he wants to be with is unattainable. Kay’s been his best friend for years now; Cassian’s pretty sure he’s Kay’s  _ only _ friend. He knows that Kay’s priority would be his emotional well-being. Not anyone else’s.

“Because it wouldn’t have been fair to Sophia,” he tells him and after a pause he adds, “and to me.” Because it’s true. Neither of them would have been happy.

Kay nods. He might not understand the full emotional impact of all of this but he trusts Cassian’s judgment.

“It’s probably a good thing the wedding is cancelled. The speech I had to write as your best man was a challenge.” With that he gets a piece of paper out of his jacket and unfolds it before he hands it over to Cassian.

“It reads more like an obituary.” He blinks and then adds in a clipped tone, “Because it actually is an obituary. I tried to find inspiration by writing it. I guess now I don’t need to write another one.” And at that a real and loud laugh escapes Cassian for the first time this day. Grabbing his almost empty coffee cup, Kay gets up, claps him on the shoulder once and then leaves him sitting there, his coffee in one hand, the speech in the other.

Kay wasn’t exaggerating.

_ Cassian Andor, acclaimed photojournalist, died on Friday from complications caused by losing his fiancée and his soulmate in the span of only a few days. He was never deemed to be a hopeless romantic but in his last days on this earth he surrendered himself to the quest of finding that one woman whom he considered his soulmate after spending a few fateful hours with her years ago. _

_ The search, unfortunately, ended last week in complete and utter failure. Yet, Cassian Andor never gave up hope in those last days. _

_ Asked about the passing of his friend and colleague, Kay Tuesso told the New York Times that Andor was a changed man in has last fleeting days. Where he was a pragmatic and stoic man before, he was feeling a rebellious streak inside himself before his passing. _

_ Ultimately, Cassian tried to believe in what he called “serendipity” or what the reader would refer to as “fate”. May he find what he was looking for in his next life. _

“Fate.” The word rolls off of Cassian’s tongue easily and he repeats it absentmindedly.

Suddenly, Cassian knows what to do.

 

* * *

 

They meet again at the gallery.

Cassian’s message had come surprising, but Jyn didn’t hesitate to answer it. And now she’s here – standing again in front of the all-seeing monk, waiting for Cassian to show up. She’s nervous, her hands fiddling with the hem of her shirt and the loose ends of her hair that keep falling into her face.

She senses his presence before she even sees him. Casting one last glance at the photography in front of her, she takes a deep breath and turns around.

There aren’t many people around – it’s almost closing time and people are slowly leaving. He’s standing at the other end of the room, watching her with a small smile on his face. She can’t help but smile herself. One last nervous touch at her hair and she starts moving her feet.

The crowd around her stills in her peripheral view although she knows the people are still bustling around her. Everything begins pointing to him as she sees him walking towards her as well.

She’s faster, much faster than he is and as she finally stops before him, he’s not even done six steps.

“Hi,” she hears herself saying. Looking up at his face she takes in every little detail she’s missed these last two years – every feature, every little wrinkle, the dimples on his cheeks, that strand of hair falling on his forehead.

“Hi,” and the lines around his eyes crinkle even more.

She reaches out to him, hesitantly at first, touching his lower arm. Slowly her hand wanders down, to his wrist and then finally taking his hand in hers. His eyes flicker down to where their hands are now joint and he mirrors her movements with his own hand – starting at her elbow, then slowly drifting downwards to her wrist and her hand.

They are standing there, holding hands, watching each other for a couple of minutes. Neither of them is saying anything, both too afraid to break this moment.

There’s that pull again, she knows that he’s feeling it as well, notices how he’s drifting closer and closer, invading her space.

“I’m glad you came.” His voice is just above a whisper and it sends a shiver down her spine. His hands squeeze hers and she sees how he chews on what he’s about to say next.

“I… I thought you were going to get married.” As he sees her confusion, he hastily adds, “I saw you… the other day. I noticed the ring on your finger.”

“We called it off. Just like you did.” The relief is plain on his face and he lets out a breath. She feels it distinctly against her face as he now leans down further.

She closes the gap between them before he has a chance to. It’s just a soft brush of her lips against his that brings no release to the tension they both are feeling. So when their lips part again, he chases after hers for another kiss.

His hand goes to her neck and under her hair, pulling her even closer. His mouth is on hers again in an instant, more demanding than the first time, and she responds immediately. She can feel his tongue darting out – she remembers how it did that in much the same way on that evening years ago and how much she longed to feel his lips on hers back then. She can’t believe that, after such a long time, she’s finally able to have this. To feel him pressed against her, his mouth so warm on hers, his tongue gliding over her lips, asking for permission.

When she finally opens her mouth to let his tongue touch hers, she sees stars beneath her eyelids and feels the goosebumps forming on her forearms again. He absentmindedly traces the freckles on her arm, brushing over them with his thumb and probably remembering the lines he’d drawn on there as well as she does.

A low moan escapes them both and that’s when they realise they’re still in a public space, standing in the middle of a room full of people. She pushes back reluctantly, but doesn’t let go of his arms. A broad smile is on his face as he looks down into her eyes.

His voice is even lower, when he speaks again, “You wanna do something?”

The answer comes out more breathless than she expects, “Yes. Yes, I do.”

He takes her by the hand and she follows him outside.

They go back to the café with the lovely name, they talk until late at night and after excusing herself to Bodhi, she lets him take her home. She doesn’t leave again.

They’re getting married 3 months later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There _might_ be an epilogue. It's not needed. But I still have a scene in mind I might want to write. But for now, that's it. Say hi on [Tumblr](http://thereigning-lorelai.tumblr.com) if you want! ♥


End file.
